


going into the ground for you

by maricolous



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, M/M, thoroughly cobbled together folklore references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13829961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maricolous/pseuds/maricolous
Summary: Flint returns to his long-abandoned home to find his not-so-long-lost love. He finds something else on the way.





	going into the ground for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [straddling_the_atmosphere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/straddling_the_atmosphere/gifts).



> I wrote this for Cristina's birthday but now I've made it slightly nicer to read so it's going up here too!!!
> 
> the title is (part of) a line from a podcast called mabel and you can see how the podcast influenced this story if you've listened to it

Miranda helps him cross the lake. Her hand is cold and dry in his own as she leads him to the water. The water drags her skirts down as they wade to the boat but she’s unhindered by the weight of it. She spares him a gentle smile as he lifts her into the boat. It tugs at his heart, to see her like this and know she will never change. It would have brought him joy once, but now brings him sorrow as well. He’d wanted her to remain the same, in the way that he did and Thomas did. Not like this. Not because life had been stolen from her too early.

“You shouldn’t be stuck here,” Flint says, feeling the burn in his muscles as he begins to row. It’s been too long in their world, away from his own. Too many years languishing and forgetting how his own body works. Like a fish out of water. Or perhaps, like a seal out of water. 

“When you find him, James, bring him to me,” Miranda says, ignoring his apology. “I should like to see him.”

“Of course,” Flint says. There’s a lump in his throat. He can neither swallow it, nor retch it up. “I’ll get him back safely.”

Miranda smiles again. “I know you will.”

The trip is spent in silence after that, Miranda gazing over the water peacefully as Flint navigates their boat through the mists. He’s loathe to bring it around to the dock, where a black shrouded figure waits for them. He has no affection for Death, though he knows it’s only Death’s good graces that keep Miranda in this realm.

“You haven’t time to waste,” Miranda chides. “To the dock, lest the rocks get us.”

It isn’t as if sinking the boat would kill either of them, she dead and he unable to die. But he does as she says, brings the boat around to the dock, and helps her up before Death can extend a skeletal hand. Flint stares into the shroud, as he always does, but if the look is returned, he cannot tell. There’s nothing but darkness beyond the tattered black veil.

Miranda is permitted to walk him to the hill, the vast mound that makes up most of the island. Her already soaked hem drags through the mud and it doesn’t take long for the white fabric to turn brown. It will be back to its pristine state when, if, Flint emerges, but the sight of it upsets him nonetheless.

He hesitates at the mouth of the cave that will take him into the hill, into the home he’s abandoned for so long. Things may have changed too much for him to find his way. Too much time may have passed for him to get Thomas back. Thomas may no longer age but he is still so human, still so fragile. Any number of things may have already happened in the time it took Flint to get here.

“Go,” Miranda whispers.

When he turns to her, she’s already headed back toward Death and the bobbing rowboat at the dock.

“Right,” Flint whispers, stepping into his home for the first time in decades.

 

-

 

Flint gets several layers into the hill with a combination of threats and cajoling, whispering to the walls and the vines that hang from the stone above until they open to him. But that can only take him so far. The deeper he goes, the more reluctant the hill is to let him in. He’d chosen to leave and it remembered. Of course it remembered.

 

-

 

“What’s this? One of the fair folk, among us mere mortals?”

“Don’t antagonise him.”

The first souls Flint stumbles upon are a pair of humans. They’ve been claimed by his people, glow softly from within as all humans claimed do, but they’re also clearly hiding. Few fae wander this high into the hill unless necessary. It’s a smart place to come if you don’t want to be found.

Flint decides they must be twins, though it’s immediately obvious that they’re not related by blood. “Well met,” he says, as he would to his kin. “What may I call you?”

“Silver,” the man says, and the woman says, “Max.”

They ask, “And what may we call you?”

“Flint,” he says, watching the way their eyes widen at the sound of his name. He’s been gone for some time but his name still holds weight. It pleases and sickens him. “I’m looking for someone. Mortal, like you.”

“Oh but there is no one like us,” Max says, rearranging her skirts in the candlelight.

“No one,” Silver agrees. He sits with one leg stretched out before him and Flint can just about make out the distinctive whorls of wood where there should be flesh. Small blooms peek through the cracks in in the wood. Looking at them both, he can see the same blooms twisting through their hair, glowing just a little brighter than the candles they’ve lit. “Flint…who do you seek? If we may ask?”

There’s no way they don’t know. Flint’s theft of the king’s beloved mortal bard is a story told even among his kin in the mortal realm. He’s heard it enough to know that everyone who’s been in the hill since must know.

“Thomas,” he says, when they continue only to stare at him as if they haven’t any idea.

“Thomas,” Silver repeats. “Fair Thomas.”

Max smiles. “True Thomas. Reclaimed by the royalty because you stole him away upon the day he was set to become one of you.”

“We don’t know where he is,” Silver says, spreading his hands in an apologetic gesture. It’s a lie. These two are mortal and so they can still lie.

“He’s with the royalty,” Flint says. “And you know where they are.”

“Perhaps,” Silver says.

“Perhaps.” Max smiles. “Perhaps not.”

“Perhaps not,” Silver demurs. 

“If there is a price for your help, I will pay it,” Flint says. He hasn’t the patience for these matters, not after so many years spent above where the games played are so much simpler.

“Freedom,” they say, simultaneously.

Flint considers the deals they must have made to get this close to the surface at all, and considers the fact that they haven’t bargained their way all the way out, and considers that this may all be a trick. There’s no easier way to stop him than to send mortals to do it. He doesn’t trust them.

“Very well,” Flint says. He does need them. “Help me find Thomas, and I will help set you free.”

Max stands, she and Flint eyeing each other in the flickering light of the candles as Silver pushes himself to his feet as well.

“Swear it,” Silver says.

“I swear it,” Flint says. He nearly rolls his eyes when they don’t move. “I swear that I will help you gain passage out of the hill once we have found Thomas.”

They smile and gesture for Flint to continue down the path. “We will direct your way.”

 

-

 

Max and Silver say little of importance as they walk. Max is silent, save for giving the occasional direction. Silver, on the other hand, doesn’t shut up. He speaks for no apparent reason other than to fill the silence as they walk, spinning tales that Flint can’t help listening to. Even as they climb through a space that has them all struggling to breathe, rock pressing roughly against their chests and backs, Silver doesn’t stop.

“Do you ever shut up?” Flint asks, once he’s free of the rock, Max already charging on ahead of them.

“Me? No,” Silver says, easing his leg free and wincing as he comes away with a long scratch along the wood, even as it begins sealing itself. He smiles innocently at Flint. “Do you want to know what happened to my leg?”

The true answer is yes. The knowledge of it hangs between them as Flint tries to find a way to lie.

“Are you coming or not?” Max calls back to them, looking cross in the glow of her hair and the flowering vines that grow out of the walls here. They must be getting closer to the court.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Flint says, turning to follow Max. He can hear Silver snort behind him but the question goes unanswered.

Silver keeps talking about absolutely nothing. Max doesn’t talk at all.

 

-

 

Jack Rackham was human once. He saved one of their kin, and so they made him one of them instead. But he wasn’t born fae and so he wanders whatever level of the hill he desires, unafraid of the world beyond it. And so it is that they stumble upon him and his beloved Anne somewhere halfway to court.

Anne and Flint make eye contact for the briefest of moments before both looking away.

“Ah, the prodigal brother returns!” Rackham says, spreading his arms in welcome. “And he brings pets!”

Silver’s lips curl and he bares his teeth but it’s not a smile. Flint finds he quite prefers it to the shit eating grin Silver’s spent most of their journey shooting his way. Max’s face doesn’t change, but her gaze is immediately fixed on Anne.

“They’re not pets,” Flint says stiffly.

Rackham doesn’t appear to be convinced or impressed. “Come back for the one you stole then?”

Not for his sister, Rackham means. Anne is making every effort not to look at Flint, her seal pelt draped over her shoulders like a dark coat. Not for his sister, taken by a human and rescued by a human, because Flint had been too busy cavorting with his lover in a different part of the mortal realm. Flint had never been a good brother, and Anne never a good sister, and so their refusal to acknowledge each other now makes little difference.

“Yes,” Flint says.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Anne watch Max, watches the way her fingers curl and uncurl around the hilt of the blade at her hip. He watches Max take half a step toward her.

_Ah_ , he thinks. “That is the plan,” he says to Rackham, as though nothing has occurred.

“Oh, well I think you’ll find you’re in for quite the surprise,” Rackham says, smiling wide. “So much happens in so little time, don’t you think?”

“That’s how our people like it,” Flint agrees, ignoring the disappointment on Rackham’s face when he doesn’t express curiosity at the implication that something major has happened in his absence. He left because he didn’t care for the place any longer. That hasn’t changed. “Now, if you don’t mind…”

“I think I shall remain here,” Max says, eyes still on Anne.

Silver turns to her, mouth open to protest, but one glance from her stops him. 

“I shall remain here,” Max repeats firmly.

Rackham shrugs. “Be my guest.”

Silver storms off down the tunnel, leaving the four of them behind. He doesn’t turn to see if Flint is following. He isn’t.

“You know what this means,” Flint says quietly to her. “I can’t help you find your way out.”

“I am not the one who needs your help. I never have been,” Max says, smiling. “And you do not need mine.”

As he finally leaves, Flint tips his head in Anne’s direction. She returns the motion. It’s enough. She doesn’t need him, no more than he needs her.

 

-

 

It takes what feels like hours to find Silver. Flint doubles back on himself multiple times, even once when he stumbles upon a direct path to the court. He should just go on. That path is all that keeps him from Thomas. If Silver wants to get lost, Silver is free to get lost. Flint is under no obligation to help without being helped in turn. And yet, he finds himself turning back and squeezing through a small crevice in search of his errant mortal guide.

He finds Silver on the other side of the crevice, in a chamber so small that Flint has to crouch right where he steps out in front of Silver, their knees pressing together in the tight space.

“I’m not going to apologise,” Silver says. He keeps his gaze stubbornly fixed on his knees, though the crouch he’s curled into must be uncomfortable for his leg. 

Flint snorts. He didn’t expect an apology. Humans are too mercurial for him to have expectations. Instead, he sits and waits. It doesn’t take long.

“We spent so long getting out…how can Max just fucking give up?” Silver spits, furious. “All of your kind are pretty, what’s so damn special about that one?” 

“Perhaps Anne needs her more than you do,” Flint says.

The words have the desired effect. Silver looks at him, instead of glaring at his knees. “You know her?”

“I’ll tell you if we leave this forsaken hole,” Flint says.

Silver’s jaw works for a few seconds before he nods. Flint keeps an eye on him as they both stand, Silver pressing a hand to the wall to pull himself up and get his leg straightened out. Silver’s head barely touches the top even as Flint has to slightly bend to fit. In the glow of the flowers in Silver’s hair, at this distance, Flint can see he’s got freckles across his nose.

“Your eyes are very green,” Silver murmurs. 

Flint withdraws into the narrow passage, grateful for the cool rock against his suddenly hot skin. It feels less crushing on the way out, Silver escaping with nary a scratch this time.

“Well?” he says expectantly.

“She’s my sister,” Flint says. “Lead the way.”

“She’s…your sister?” Silver stares at Flint, even as he leads them back to the path to the court. “You’re a selkie?”

“Yes,” Flint says. He’d expected all to know what he is as they know who he is.

Silver looks at him, gaze roving. It’s simple curiosity, Flint is sure, but the intensity of it sends a thrill down his spine.

“Where’s your pelt?” Silver asks.

Flint smiles crookedly. “You know I won’t tell you that.”

Silver nods, then smiles as he did so many minutes or hours or days ago. “Do you want to know what happened to my leg?”

“Yes,” Flint says, giving in to the question. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“Liar,” Silver whispers.

“It doesn’t matter,” Flint repeats slowly. “I can’t lie. You know that.”

Silver doesn’t say anything else for a long time. When he finally speaks, he tells a long and rambling story about a man with a treasure map. Flint doesn’t interrupt him.

 

-

 

It’s been a decade but Flint still remembers what the king looks like. Pale faced, with scars that made him look only more regal, hard won from his fight to take the throne. Pale hair and pale eyes. A luminous leader in a dark place. Flint had only been too happy to steal Thomas out from under his nose, and Thomas had only been too happy to be stolen. This is the man he expects to see upon the throne.

Silver falls a step behind as they enter the grand hall of the court, crowds of festive fae parting around them until they stand before the throne, a large empty space around them.

The king upon the throne is pale faced, with pale hair and pale eyes. He is luminous, wearing a crown of the same flowers woven through Silver’s leg and Silver and Max’s hair. He bears no scars. He bears only a gentle smile and he stretches a hand toward Flint. Flint would know him anywhere.

“Thomas,” he whispers, stepping forward and forward and forward until he falls to one knee, clutching Thomas’ hand in both of his own. “What did you do?”

“I did only what I had to,” Thomas says, watching as his hand is pressed to Flint’s cheek. “They needed me. You don’t. You want me, but you don’t need me.”

“I promised Miranda I would get you back,” Flint says, throat tight with sorrow. 

“I think she’ll understand, James,” Thomas says. “Come here.” 

Thomas leans down as Flint leans up, meeting him halfway. The kiss is as chaste and sweet as the first they shared, but over all too soon.

“I give you free passage as you please. The hill will always welcome you,” Thomas whispers.

Flint presses his forehead to Thomas’, but Silver’s gaze is like a physical weight on his back. His promise is a weight on his heart. “Silver…” 

“Take him with you,” Thomas murmurs. He smiles as he withdraws. “I’ll see you again, James. I promise.”

It’s a dismissal, gentle but final. Flint lifts himself once more to his feet, turns on his heel and walks right back out.

“You ought to go with him,” he hears Thomas say.

Flint doesn’t turn back. Behind him, he hears the distinctive sound of Silver’s gait.

 

-

 

“You don’t have to take me with you,” Silver says, as light begins to permeate the cave. The exit is visible now, grows steadily larger as they approach it.

“I swore it,” Flint says.

“You don’t want to take me with you,” Silver amends. 

“I came here for Thomas and he —“ Flint whirls to Silver, taking in the tension in his posture. “He’s fucking stuck here.” 

“He chose that,” Silver says, drawing himself up when Flint snarls. “No. Don’t look at me like that. He chose that. He chose to become the king. That throne is won by blood. You don’t accidentally kill someone in a place like this. You know that. I only want to get out of here. I’m not asking to be your pet. I’ve had plenty enough of that. We can go our separate ways after this. I don’t care.” 

“Liar,” Flint says, baring his teeth. “You do care.”

“I am not your pet!” Silver snaps.

“I am not asking you to be. You’d be a shit pet anyway,” Flint says. He thinks of the way home has never been a place, how the hill had never fit. Thomas was his home and now Thomas is a king. “I haven’t a home to return to. I suspect you don’t either.”

Silver takes a deep breath and offers the shadow of a smile. “Get me out of this forsaken hole.”

“As you wish.”

“Wait,” Silver says when they’re mere steps from the mouth of the cave.

Flint stops just short of the reach of the light, leaving only Silver’s flowering hair to light them both as they look at each other. “Yes?”

“You found the path, didn’t you? When I’d gone.”

“Yes.”

“And you came back to find me anyway. Why?”

“I don’t…” The words catch on Flint’s tongue, unpleasant. A lie. He does know. “I had to. Come on. Let’s go.”

 

-

 

Miranda is waiting when they emerge, seated on a rock outside the mouth of the cave. Her dress is pristine. “There you are. That took longer than I thought it would.”

Silver hangs back, reaching a hand into the misty hair as if he’s never seen mist before, and pointedly doesn’t watch as Flint embraces her.

“I couldn’t bring him back,” Flint whispers, eyes squeezed shut against his tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense. He’s right here,” Miranda murmurs.

Flint pulls back to look at her in confusion, eyelashes damp. Miranda gently wipes the wetness away and smiles at him.

“I knew Thomas had no plans to return,” Miranda says. She smooths her skirts nervously, the way she always does before meeting someone she wants to impress. “I knew you would bring someone back but not who. So I wanted to meet him. Now make introductions.”

Flint turns back to Silver, jerking his head in Miranda’s direction.

“Nicely, James,” Miranda chides, amused.

“Silver, this is Miranda,” Flint says, trying not to think about what Miranda’s words. “Miranda, this is Silver.”

“John,” Silver says, kissing the back of Miranda’s hand.

“He’s charming. I like him,” Miranda says.

Silver grins at Flint, and Flint finds a smile tugging at the corner of his own mouth too.

“He’s incorrigible.”

 

-

 

They march their way past Death on the dock and Silver refuses Flint’s help to get into the boat, glaring even when the boat wobbles dangerously, all because Flint simply reached his hand out, just in case.

Any argument that may have ensued is staved off as a pair of skeletal arms suddenly stretch between them, a sleek dark sheet draped between its hands. Death offers it to Silver. Silver takes it. Flint feels suddenly less immortal. 

“What is it?” Silver asks, only after it’s in his hands.

Flint reaches for it and shakes it out, wrapping it about Silver’s shoulders. “It will keep you warm. The mists get quite cold.” 

It isn’t a proper answer but Silver huddles in it as Flint rows them away from the dock, Death and Miranda disappearing into the mists. He looks almost sweet like that, with blooms in his hair and Flint’s pelt wrapped tight around him, against the chill of the lake.

Flint decides this particular truth can wait, at least until they find their way home.


End file.
